


Three Little Angels

by inkling



Category: Emergency!
Genre: Humor, Parody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-10
Updated: 2009-12-10
Packaged: 2017-10-04 08:01:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkling/pseuds/inkling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do the three backup characters in the show really think of all the shenanigans their pals, aka the show's primary characters, get into?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Little Angels

_"Batchelors' Hall is always the best_

_If you're sick drunk or sober it's always a rest_

_No woman to scold you, no children to bawl_

_Always stay single, keep Batchelors' Hall._

_Stay stay close to my door._

_Batchelors' Hall, Batchelors' Hall,_

_I'll always stay single, keep Batchelors' Hall."_

 

_~~Traditional English Folk Song_

_[Arr. Hart / Prior / Knight / Johnson / Kemp]_

 

 

"Door's open!" Mike yelled, clearing the coffee table with a couple of sweeps of one foot. He set the popcorn bowl down, and then two of the three beers he cradled in one arm. The third he kept, pulling the opener from the front pocket of his jeans and snapping the cap off. He took a long pull off of it before he set it down. Chet and Marco banged their way through the front door as he finished opening their beers.

 

"You guys are late! It's almost time!" he groused as Marco carefully set the fondue pot down in the center table. Straightening from depositing his burden, the Hispanic firefighter hit Chet in the chest with one of his crocheted pot holders.

 

"That's because Chester B. here _had_ to have eggplant for the fondue. We hit FOUR stores before we found any."

 

"EGGPLANT?"

 

"Yes, eggplant," said Chet, pompously. "I saw it on the Home Show last week. You slice it and then you don't even need those dippy forks, and the white on purple creates a pleasing aesthetic experience, not just for the tastebuds." Dumping the contents of his grocery bag on the table, he pulled a large, purple eggplant from the pile and waved it at them. Mike shared a skeptical look with Marco. _Wait a minute, Chet said white..._

 

Mike leaned over and lifted the lid of the fondue pot. A strange, white substance burped once, and he jerked back.

 

"Hey! That's not cheese! What is this stuff?" Mike poked a finger at the contents of the pot, then held it up to his nose and carefully sniffed the gluey matter coating it. Beside him, Marco leaned over and stared suspiciously at the pot before levelling his own glare at Chet.

 

"It's white Belgian chocolate, mostly. I'll have you know I had to drive practically to Pasadena to find the ingredients." Chet shook the carefully folded paper bag at his two crewmates. Mike took a tentative taste of the stuff on his finger, and shrugged. It might work. But he'd be damned if he was gonna try eggplant with anything, no matter the "aesthetic" experience.

 

Chet retreated to the kitchen to slice his eggplant, and Mike and Marco worked on clearing the last week's worth of papers from the couch.

 

"Hey, did either of you hear from Cap or Roy today? Wasn't Roy supposed to get out of the hospital this morning?" The sound of drawers slamming accompanied Chet's voice from the kitchen.

 

"I tried calling up there this afternoon, but they wouldn't let me through to Johnny's room, and Roy wasn't answering. There wasn't any answer at his house, either, and I couldn't get Cap." Mike shrugged, and tossed the month old water bill he'd just pulled from between his couch cushions at the cluttered desk in the far corner of the room.

 

"Cap would have called if there was anything we needed to know," Marco added. He headed for the console television set. He turned the button and tapped one foot, staring impatiently at the screen as it warmed up. Mike pushed his friend aside and carefully positioned the set, glancing over his shoulder at the couch to be sure he had it just right.

 

"Yeah, but I thought maybe...I dunno, I planned to go up there and see them, but after I spent all morning looking for the white chocolate, I ran out of time. But maybe I should have tried harder." Chet stood forlornly in the kitchen doorway, half an eggplant in one hand and the kitchen knife dangling in the other. Mike turned to face his friends. Marco, a guilty expression on his face, wouldn't meet Mike's gaze. _All right, time to set these two straight._

 

"Chet, we have been there for those guys through earthquakes, mudslides--"

 

"Snake bites, hit and runs," Marco interjected, heading for the couch and his beer.

 

"Monkey viruses, stabbings, smoke inhalation, building collapses..." Mike shook his head and held his hands out. "Just how many hospital vigils do they expect us to keep for them? I know it sounds cruel, but after a while it all just starts running together. One night a week where I let myself have a life beyond the station and Rampart isn't too much to ask."

 

Chet stared at them morosely for a moment. The time he spent with Henry at the station was obviously paying off: his glum expression rivaled the Basset hound's at his most pathetic.

 

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Chet sighed. "I mean, this is only one night a week. If it was any other night we'd be there for them, right?"

 

"Right" chorused his friends. Heaving a relieved sigh, Chet returned to the kitchen.

 

Mike and Marco plopped themselves on the couch, reaching for their beers. Mike grabbed a handful of pretzels and began to dunk them one by one in the warm chocolate. He chewed thoughtfully. Not bad, but cheese was better. This was the last time he let Chet do the shopping unsupervised. Marco was too much of a pushover--not to mention the mess he was making as he tried to get a disintegrating Twinkie to his mouth. Most of the chocolate fondue wound up on his fingers and mustache--not to mention several dollops that landed on Mike's rather dilapidated couch.

 

Licking his own fingers, Mike grabbed a t-shirt from the floor beside him and tossed it at Marco. Marco caught it, and made several ineffectual swipes at the couch cushions, spreading the chocolate around even more. Oh, well, it wasn't like the couch was new or anything. Chet was still chopping eggplant in the kitchen when time ran out. Mike and Marco both froze as the image on the screen changed. Mike opened his mouth to call to Chet, but the music and images had already captured him, and his friend was forgotten in the awe of the moment.

 

The noise of the television ruled over their contented silence for the next few minutes. Released from the television's spell by the commercial break, Mike realized his mouth was open, and he shoved a pretzel in before closing it. Marco's eyes had glazed over just a bit, but he grinned in return when he caught Mike's eye.

 

"God, that Farrah Fawcett..." The black-haired firefighter shook his head, his eyes round with awe. "Lee Majors is absolutely the luckiest man on earth. Have you seen that poster of her, the one where she's in that brown swimsuit, the one made of that really thin material where you can see...?"

 

Mike nodded, then shrugged, swallowing his pretzel before he answered.

 

"You can have her. I'll take Jaclyn Smith any day. She's _perfect_."

 

Marco shook his head as Chet came from the kitchen, a plate full of raw eggplant held proudly before him.

 

"Yeah, but you know what they say: 'blondes are more fun'." Marco waggled his eyebrows suggestively and smiled.

 

"That's 'Blondes _have_ more fun'," Mike corrected, jerking back and shaking his head as Chet waved the plate of eggplant enticingly beneath his nose. Marco made a face and pulled away as well when Chet offered the plate to him. Chet grabbed a slice and pointed it at them.

 

"Well, all right, but you guys don't know what you're missing!"

 

"No, but we know what we're gonna miss if you don't sit down and shut up!" Mike growled. Chet shrugged and set the plate of eggplant on the table, dropping down to sit cross-legged on the floor beside it. Once again musical voices filled the room, and the sound of chewing faded as all three men were once more mesmerized by the television screen.

 

"That Farrah...." Chet sighed a few minutes later. Mike slapped his shoulder and pointed at the chocolate dripping onto the carpet when Chet glared at him. Marco tossed the shirt he'd cleaned up with to Chet. Chet scrubbed futilely at the carpet with the shirt, his attention obviously elsewhere. "Man, can you imagine... Yes, Miss Fawcett, you do need mouth to mouth resuscitation. Fireman's honor." Chet grinned lasciviously, but Marco, another chocolate-covered Twinkie halfway in his mouth, shook his head.

 

"Uh-umph," he mumbled. Swallowing after only a couple of chews, he shook his head again. "She's claimed. I got her first."

 

Chet's shoulders slumped as he stared at Marco in disbelief. Then, he perked up and smiled, reaching for another slice of eggplant. "Okay, then, I get--"

 

"Nope. I got Jaclyn tonight." Mike stuffed more pretzels into his mouth and nearly choked laughing at Chet's open-mouthed dismay.

 

"But, but..." Chet wasted a heart-broken look on the TV screen, where a small dog happily chased a checkered chuck wagon across linoleum. "But, that leaves me with Kate Jackson! I mean, she's no slouch, but she's no Farrah or Jaclyn, either. I mean she's... she's... she's MATURE!"

 

"You say that like it's a disease, Chet," Mike snickered. "Your fault: you snooze, you lose and you know it."

 

"Well, yeah, but someone had to slice the eggplant--"

 

"SHH! It's starting again!" Marco waved a hand at them and, again, the men gave their rapt attention to the TV screen. Suddenly, the picture of three women contorting themselves so they could all listen to a conversation through the same keyhole disappeared, to be replaced by the local station's logo screen and a "Breaking News" banner.

 

"AW, NO WAY!" Chet howled. "They CAN'T do this to us! Not tonight, not tonight of all nights! Come on, nothing's that important that they'd have to interrupt _Charlie's Angels_ for it!"

 

Mike slumped back on the couch, shaking his head. He took a long drink of his beer as Chet continued to sputter. Marco muttered what sounded like dire threats in Spanish, taking a lengthy swig of his own drink. His eyes closed, Mike waited for the newscaster to finish up whatever gobbledygook he had to get through. Damn, and the station would probably rejoin the show "in progress" when they were done with their innumerable repetitions of whatever ridiculous little tidbit of information they'd dug up for this self-important news moment. Someone must have finally unearthed Eizabeth Taylor's _real_ dress size...

 

"Hey, that's Rampart! And I think that's CAP! And ROY!" Mike opened his eyes to see for himself, but didn't lift his head off the back of the couch. Chet, all agog, was pointing at the television screen with another slice of eggplant, and dripping more chocolate on Mike's dingy carpet.

 

"Hey, Kelly! Use the t-shirt!" Mike barked, and Chet jumped. While the stocky firefighter found the shirt and dabbed at the new chocolate stain on the floor, Mike sat up and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. There was only one Twinkie left, he noticed with dismay, and Marco had a hand out to take it. But, for the moment, his friend was staring at the television screen. Mike took the opportunity to sneak the Twinkie away from Marco's hovering hand. Forgoing the congealing chocolate, he stuffed the entire thing in his mouth before turning his attention to the television screen .

 

The scene at Rampart was pandemonium. The reporter was breathlessly trying to narrate the extent of her ignorance as the news crew negotiated their way between security guards and hospital personnel, all milling about in what Mike recognized as the main hallway of Rampart Emergency. Chet was right, that was Cap in the background there, and Roy, and that blood- and gore-covered figure on the approaching gurney looked a lot like--

 

"Hey! Isn't that Johnny on that stretcher?" Chet was pointing at the screen again.

 

"Yeah, it is!" Marco said, leaning forward. All three men watched in silence as the gurney bearing their friend was wheeled down the hall, the camera following the grisly sight until Dr. Brackett's angry face filled the screen and there was a lot of shouting and the picture suddenly went black. The overly-made up anchorman magically popped up, prattling on, still trying to milk the fact they had no idea what was going on for all it was worth. Mike slumped back against the couch.

 

"Wonder what happened?" Marco asked, his hand finally coming down where the Twinkie used to be.

 

Swallowing, Mike shook his head.

 

"They don't know," he said disgustedly, ignoring the glare Marco threw at him when he discovered the missing pastry. The t-shirt landed on Mike's face and he used it to wipe his mouth before shooting it back at Chet. "They _think_ something's happening so they're all over the place like vultures. We'll be lucky to catch the ending credits of _Charlie's Angels_."

 

Marco and Chet stared at each other, and then both men turned to him.

 

"Johnny sure looked a mess," Chet said soberly. "Like someone blew all over him."

 

Marco nodded.

 

"Yeah, he did look pretty bad. But Cap didn't seem too upset, so maybe he's okay?" Marco looked hopefully at the television screen.

 

"Only Johnny," muttered Mike, and both his friends stared at him as he shook his head. The television had gone to commercials. Mike sat up, and grabbed another pretzel and dipped it into the fondue pot. The pretzel broke against the rubbery contents, and he threw it down in disgust, ignoring his friends to stare at the commercial on the TV screen, a woman and a cat dancing in sync. He knew what they were thinking, and he didn't want to go there, at all. He didn't want to do a hospital vigil tonight; he wanted to stay home and watch the rest of _Charlie's Angels_.

 

"The coffee at the hospital is terrible," he finally offered, as the commercial came to an end. Chet and Marco's shocked expressions mirrored each other. Damn, didn't these two have _any_ resolve? Any intestinal fortitude, as his grandpa would say? One little television report, and they were already caving in. He would have expected this of Chet, but surely Marco had the guts to live his own life for one night? He'd sounded like it a few minutes ago, before it was time to put up or shut up.

 

"Cap would have called if it was something important. And he hasn't," Mike said firmly, waving at the phone, half buried in the debris on his desk. Hopefully neither of the other men in the room would remember that he always took it off the hook before their show started.

 

"We now rejoin our regularly scheduled programming, in progress," the television blared suddenly.

 

And Farrah and Jaclyn were running frantically down a flight of castle stairs, while Kate huddled in a corner talking breathlessly on a phone. Mike kept an eye on their antics while he waited for his friends' decision.

 

"Well..." Chet finally offered, staring at a close-up of Jaclyn and her heaving bosom. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt if we waited until the show was over."

 

"Yeah," said Marco, sitting even further forward on the couch as Farrah's smile flashed, her teeth nearly filling the entire screen. "I mean, it looked like an absolute mess down there. I don't suppose they really need us down there getting in the way."

 

"And 'in the way' is what we would be, right?" Chet begged, groping for another stick of eggplant without taking his eyes off the screen. Mike kindly shoved the plate over towards him.

 

"Yeah, we would definitely be in the way. We'll go later," he placated his friends. Absorbed in the TV show, both men nodded vaguely. Mike breathed out a careful sigh of relief. Some nights you just got lucky, and some nights you just had to have your priorities straight. Tonight it was a little of both.

 

He smiled, leaning over to grab another handful of pretzels before settling back into the couch. Jaclyn was bouncing across the screen again, and the view was his to enjoy. Better yet, there was still at least half an hour left of the show.


End file.
